


A One Bed Problem:  The next day.

by Sulla



Series: A One Bed Problem [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events following those covered in A One Bed Problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A One Bed Problem:  The next day.

John spent the entire next day in a state of agitated distraction. When he had woken up, Sherlock had already showered and was demanding that they get to the work of the day, the interviewing of several suspects and the viewing of a potential crime scene. Not a word was said between them about the events of the night before. John tried as hard as he could to concentrate and follow the detective's speedy deductions, but kept getting lost in thoughts of hard flesh thrusting between his thighs, and as a result spent most of the day with a persistent erection. This, much to Sherlock's evident amusement, indicated by the sly sidelong glances he kept shooting the doctor. Every time they made eye contact, John flushed brilliantly, further giving away the direction of his thoughts.

Now, the day was done and the pair of them wearily made their way back to the inn, barely avoiding collisions with various unicylists. The single-wheeled conveyances were everywhere in the tiny town, making getting from place to place a truly hazardous enterprise. John had hoped that a second room would have been opened up during the day, but the evidence was not reassuring. There seemed to be more unicyling afficianados than even the day before. As they climbed the stairs up to their shared room, John was fairly buzzing with nerves.

Sherlock unlocked the door, admitting the two of them before shutting it behind him, turning to lean his back against the door as soon as it was latched. Their eyes met. It had been 12 hours of work, and not one word had been said in reference to the events that had occurred in the bed the night before.

"Sherlock, I think it's time we had a talk."

"Mm, no."

John started at the unexpected response. "...what? Why do you say 'no'?" spluttered John, totally confused. "Of course we have to talk! What on earth happened last night?"

Sherlock was straight-faced. "What do you think happened last night?"

"I'm asking you, Sherlock!"

The detective stepped forwards to sit on the edge of the bed, across from the desk the John was leaning against. "I think what happened last night was the natural progression of our relationship."

John was thunder-struck, and actually struggled for words. He started to speak twice, without even knowing what he was going to say, and finally came out with, "...our _relationship_?"

Sherlock smiled encouragingly, nodding at him as if John was a particularly slow student. "Yes, John, our relationship. I have been thinking for some time that we needed to step it up a notch, and last night provided us with the right conditions. I was hesitant to make the first move, you see, but I was so happy that you made it for me."

John stared at his flatmate as if he had gone insane. "The first... the first _move_? As far as I remember, Sherlock, it was you who started it! I woke up to you humping me! You were kissing my neck and saying my name!"

Sherlock smirked. "I was unaware of my actions until you said _my_ name - and by that point you had quite the erection, as I recall."

Flushing even brighter, John stammered, "b-b-but you came to bed _naked_!" He laid this down like it was the conclusion to the argument.

The look Sherlock sent him made John feel very, very small. "I always sleep naked, John."

John just stared back at him, mouth hanging open.

As if something was truly just dawning on him now, Sherlock broke eye contact, looking down at his nails, inspecting them as if they needed trimming. "I thought you wanted me, John. I'm sorry if I mis-read the situation. If you want the bed to yourself tonight, that's fine with me. I'll sleep on the floor."

With this, Sherlock took hold of the top layer of the bed linen and began to pull it off the bed, apparently to make a pallet for himself to sleep on. John watched him arrange the bedding by the desk for a few moments before he sighed expansively and stepped forward.

"Sherlock - Sherlock, no. You don't have to sleep on the floor. Sleep in the bed. With me. Hell, sleep naked for all I care. Just... I just need to understand this. So you want this to happen? You want our relationship as friends to change? To evolve into something more than friends?"

Sherlock paused in his nest-making activities, looking up at John like he was missing a few brain cells. "Of course it's what I want! That's what friends do, isn't it? They become 'more' as they get closer? They become friends 'with benefits'?"

John barked laughter before he could stop himself, and was immediately chastened by the look on Sherlock's face as his haughty expression dropped into what looked very much like dismay. He put out his hand to the other man, as if asking him to 'stop'. He gathered his thoughts.

"Somehow I think you're misunderstanding the terms 'friends' and 'friends with benefits', Sherlock."

"What? How am I misunderstanding them?"

"Friends, as most people understand it, means a platonic relationship. That is, no sex. But if sex is added to the relationship, it changes. It can go one of two ways. Either it becomes a 'serious' relationship, where the partners are exclusively involved with each other and no one else, or it becomes a casual thing, sex with no real meaning, with the two people free to see who they want on the side. That is 'friends with benefits'."

Sherlock considered this for a moment.

"Okay, I misunderstood. I would prefer the former. I don't want to share you," he said, as smoothly as can be, like it was an everyday thing to stake claims over one's friends.

"You don't want to..." John trailed off. He stopped himself again. Took a deep breath. "Friends don't act this way, Sherlock."

The other man stared at him for a long moment.

"Well I wouldn't know that, would I?" He grabbed one of the pillows from the bed and tossed it down onto the sheets on the floor.

At those words, John felt horrible. He knew fully well that Sherlock often didn't understand social norms; why had he not guessed that Sherlock hadn't really had a friend before? John remembered how that Sebastian bloke spoke about how all the others at their uni had hated Sherlock. He had observed daily how he was treated by the people at Scotland Yard. John really did care for this large, inexperienced, somewhat ridiculous man, and he found that all he wanted right now was to hug him.

"Come here," he said to Sherlock's back. The man didn't turn around. "No really, come here, Sherlock."

Sighing huffily, the detective looked back at John over his shoulder. John beckoned him.

Sherlock stood, and slowly approached John, who reached out for him as he neared, putting his arms around the other man. Hesitantly, as if afraid that he would be pushed away if he responded, the detective reciprocated, putting his own arms around John, bringing the two of them tightly together.

The two men stood together for several minutes. John stroked Sherlock's back, using touch to calm the other man, who began to relax his muscles one by one as he stood there. He considered his options for a little while and then gently pushed Sherlock to arm's length so that he could make eye contact.

"Sherlock?"

The other man stared fixedly at a patch of wallpaper behind John's head.

"Look at me, Sherlock..."

Slowly, as if doing so took more strength than the detective thought he possessed, he brought his eyes to meet John's. The doctor took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to laugh at you, or make you feel stupid-"

"As if you could," the other man interjected.

John continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, refusing to get side-tracked "-and I should have figured that our moving into a new level of our friendship would mean something more to you. If this is what you want... well, I'm willing to give it a try."

Slowly, Sherlock's lips curled up into one of his extremely rare smiles. He clasped John back into a bracing hug. They stood there for a long time together, unmoving, before Sherlock's hands began to wander. One slipped up to cup John's cheek, and the other slid down, past the edge of John's trousers and into his pants to grasp John's arse.

With a movement that he could barely follow, John suddenly found himself lifted off of his feet and then flat on his back on top of the remaining sheets on the bed, Sherlock kissing a trail down his freshly bared sternum. The detective attacked John's flesh with kisses as if he was ravenous. He quickly undid the fastenings on John's trousers, lifting the smaller man up slightly at the hips so that he could pull down the offending garment.

Sherlock was truly stronger and faster than John had given him credit for. He wasn't sure how much he liked being literally swept off his feet by another man; his sense masculinity felt a little maligned. But before he could lose focus following that train of thought, Sherlock had bared his cock for inspection.

"I didn't get a chance to look at it last night," Sherlock said quietly. John watched, feeling a little over-exposed as the other man inspected the cock before him.

Leaving off of his observations for a moment, Sherlock sat up, and ignoring his shirt, unfastened the clasps on his own trousers, pausing a moment to shuck them completely off, with his pants included. John's mouth filled with saliva when he caught sight of Sherlock's prick, standing like an angry red exclaimation point from a thatch of thick black pubic hair. Obviously he had seen many a penis in his life, both as a doctor and a soldier. But it was rare for him to see them erect, and absolutely unheard-of for him to actually be sexually attracted to the cock's owner. He couldn't help reaching for it with his hand.

Sherlock hummed with approval as skin touched heated skin. John stroked the soft, warm skin forwards so that the foreskin came forward, almost hiding the gleaming crown, easing a bead of clear pre-ejaculate from it's tip. he stroked several more times, absolutely entranced with the image it presented, before the detective stopped him with a slighly shakey hand.

"Here," he murmured, "let me." He shimmied his body up the bed a little so that he was straddling John. He took both his cock and John's into his hands, placing them flush against each other, and stroking the two together. This way John was able to see exactly how they compared below the belt; John was thicker, but Sherlock longer, and where Sherlock's was bright red, John's was a darker, brownish red shade. They both stared down at the sight it made as Sherlock milked the both of them, enjoying the delicious friction as their most intimate skin rubbed together. Finally, though, John couldn't hold back any longer, and reached up to cup a hand behind Sherlock's neck, tangling his fingers in the inky black curls, pulling the taller man's head down for a blazingly hot kiss.

The two men lengthened their kiss as their hips fell into a sinuous rhythm, their cocks rutting against each other, little pools of spilled precum smoothing the way for them. John was content to keep going as they were until they both came, but Sherlock soon let it be known that he was hoping for more. His hips stilled, and he sat up, pulling away from John just enough that their cocks seperated. It was a seperation that John wasn't happy with, and he vocalized this with a little whine that he was unable to catch before it came out. His eyes, which had been squeezed shut with bliss, snapped open, focusing immediately on Sherlock's face, which was curiously expressionless. "Sherlock?"

Silence, then, as the two men stared at each other, both naked from the waist down, John with his shirt still pushed up under his armpits, both with throbbing erections just an inch or two away from each other.

Finally, Sherlock spoke. "Can I have you John?"

John smiled a little uncertainly, not quite catching on to what Sherlock was getting at. "You already have me, Sherlock..."

The other man shook his head. He reached down and lifted one of John's legs up at the knee with one hand, letting the other hand drift down to trace his fingers along the cleft of his buttocks, back below his testicles. Oh, thought John, clueing it a little lately. His eyes met Sherlock's once again. He had never done what he was being asked to do before, but he knew the mechanics.

"Don't we need..." John trailed off, as Sherlock reached for his discarded trousers. He rummaged in first one pocket, and then the other, before he found what he was looking for. Triumphantly, he held up a little tube of lubricant, and a condom.

"Good god, Sherlock, have you been carrying that around with you all day?" John paused as he thought back. "Wait, you haven't been out of my sight all day, and I never saw you buy that. Exactly how long have you been carrying that?"

Sherlock smirked. "There we are, well-equipped. What do you say? I want you, John, will you be mine?"

John raised one eyebrow at the other man and smiled a little. "What about this makes you think that this act will make me 'yours'? I think we need to have a little conversation ownership, jealously and possession."

"Nah, we can do that later. Let's fuck!" exclaimed Sherlock, baring all of his teeth it what appeared to be a spectacularly vulpine smile.

John stiffled a snicker as Sherlock set about opening the tube and squeezed out a little of the viscous substance into the palm of his hand. "Well, okay."

"Great!" Sherlock stated, moving to kneel between John's spread legs. John took a deep breath as his flatmate's index finger probed into his body. He had been this far before, at least, at his last prostate exam. Then again, he usually wasn't facing his doctor with a prominent hard-on when he went for said exam, so it wasn't exactly the same. Plus Sherlock was considerably more handsome than the 50-something Dr. Harrow.

Sherlock gently eased a second finger into John's body, taking care to stroke John's cock with his free hand to keep him distracted. He explored several different angles of penetration, and was rewarded when John closed his eyes blissfully with a quiet grunt and a thrust of his hips. Now that he had found it, Sherlock seemed unwilling to let it go, and targeted the same spot over and over, adding yet another finger before John started to worry that it was going to be all over before Sherlock even got inside him.

"Sherlock...Sherlock," he panted, rocking his hips into the motions of his flatmate's hand, "...now. Do it now."

"Yes, doctor," Sherlock replied, quirking up a corner of his mouth humourously. He quickly slicked his cock with another dollop of lube, rolled on the condom, and laid another layer of lube over it. He shuffled his body right up to John's, leaning in, pushing John's knees up and apart. He then shoved a nearby pillow into place beneath his hips, canting the smaller man's pelvis in a way that eased entry to his body.

John stared directly into Sherlock's eyes as the man placed the head of his cock against John's anus, and applied steady pressure. With that first thrust, Sherlock entered John's body, taking the last 'virginity' that his body knew. He buried himself in his flatmate's body, not stilling until his hips were flush with John's arse.

John was preoccupied with the intense stretching sensation, and could be forgiven for not noticing immediately, but very soon the sound Sherlock was making penetrated his consciousness. It was low, and gutteral, somewhat like a purr, yet bordering on a growl. Although they were still staring into each other's eyes, Sherlock suddenly seemed to John to be miles away. He was not actively thrusting into John, instead chosing to stay buryed in his lover's body, apparently relishing every twitch and clench that John's body provided.

"Mmmrrrrrnnnnnnee..." The noise was getting louder, seeming to issue directly from Sherlock's chest.

John began rocking his hips against Sherlock, alternately pushing himself down onto Sherlock's cock, and pushing his own cock up against the detective's belly. With this he hoped to get the man's attention, and after a few aborted thrusts Sherlock caught on, and slowly pulled his hips back until just the head of his cock remained encased in John's body. Just as slowly he drove back inside until he bottomed out. He lowered himself down so that his body was somewhat parallel to John's, and the lovers shared a provocative kiss, Sherlock mirroring what he was doing with his cock with his tongue, and now John could actually feel the sound the other man was making where their chests touched.

The men rocked together in perfect synchronicity for what seemed a blissful age, before Sherlock suddenly pulled out to John's momentary dismay, and turned John onto his side, facing away. He scooted up behind his lover and entered the well-stretched hole with ease, picking up the pace again as John twisted back at the hips so that they could kiss as he was thrust into.

Not once in this entire time had Sherlock ceased his growling vocalizations. Was this something that was natural to Sherlock? Would he always make this noise? And what did it mean, if anything? John didn't really care - it seemed to express Sherlock's need, and if that was what it was doing, John considered it very erotic. He was musing on this when he realized that Sherlock's hips were speeding up in their movements, and the growling was breaking up with the increased panting.

Then John was utterly taken by surprise when Sherlock suddenly pressed up hard behind him, forcing John almost completely onto his front. The larger man's hands left his cock, and relocated to his hips, gripping him tightly as he began to pound his way into John's body at a break-neck pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud and lewd, and every single thrust was aimed directly at John's prostate, making him cry out with each stroke. John raised one hand to his mouth and attempted to bite down and stiffle those cries, but he was mostly unsuccessful, much to Sherlock's apparent pleasure.

As John's body was being pounded into submission, he realized what Sherlock was now growling, as the cadence had changed. His eyes grew wide as he heard that it was an unending stream of "mine", said over and over again so closely together that it barely sounded like a recognizable word at all. Finally, with an almighty belly-deep groan of "MINE," Sherlock ejaculated deep into John's body, his cock spasming noticeably in John's arse.

John, quite frankly, felt as if he had been bulldozed into the ground. The other man was draped over his back, his hips jerking slightly with the aftershocks of his orgasm, pumping out those last few drips of semen deep into John's body. But he didn't lay there, wide-eyed and rather shocked, for long. Sherlock eased his cock out of John's arse, disposed of the condom, then gently rolled John onto his back, and their eyes met.

Sherlock was flushed and beautiful. His easy smile was a sight to see - and in fact John had never seen such a relaxed expression on his flatmate's face, and he smiled in its' brilliance. He didn't have long to focus on that smile though, for as soon as he'd been fully rolled onto his back, Sherlock dove down and, gripping John's throbbing cock at the base, he swallowed it down to the root.

Going from minimal stimulation to maxed-out sensation in less than a second made John cry out before he could stop himself. Sherlock bobbed up and down upon John's cock, being sure that John bottomed out each time with the head of his cock buried snugly in Sherlock's gullet. Then he would swallow around the head, humming softly before rising up the entire length of the shaft, swirling his tongue around the full length of him, finishing with a soft suck on the head, only to take him back in full yet again and repeat the process.

John couldn't hold out for long with this kind of full-frontal assault going on. Where on earth had Sherlock learned these moves? This was without doubt the best blowjob he'd had in his life. John barely had time to wonder before he was rushing head-on into the longest and most brilliant orgasm he'd ever had. Sherlock had pulled off at the last moment, but stayed close as John's body arched out, almost bending him backwards as he spent himself all over Sherlock's face - one jet even going as far as landing in his hair.

John fell back to earth mentally and back onto the bed physically in time to see Sherlock wiping the stuff from his face, dipping the results into his mouth, licking up every bit of it. John didn't know whether to be turned on or repulsed. He settled for intrigued. Sherlock met his eyes as he finished this process, and they exchanged sated smiles. Sherlock unsteadily got up one final time to retrieve a towel and spread it on the wet spot beneath John's hips. He then turned off the lamp by the bed, and lay down at his lover's side.

John lay in silence for a beat, or maybe two.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"We're going to have that talk in the morning."

"Yes, John."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

They fell asleep side by side, hand in hand, as they had the night before, and as they would for a long time to come.


End file.
